Metamorphosis
by The Beautiful Filth
Summary: When she thought she was the one who changed, he was the one who metamorphosed. Why hadn't he grasped what he had left with all his might? [Based on Volume 11, Chapter 3 alternative ending.]
1. Revelation

**Disclaimer - I do not own Cause of Death.**

**This is written based on the alternative ending to Volume 11, Chapter 3 – so SPOILER ALERT!**

**[Re-written]**

* * *

She sat, completely motionless, in spite of the rock music blaring through the amplifiers in the club. Staring down at a particular brown folder, she felt herself ripped into two. The big, black, bold words "The American" was practically screaming in her mind, driving her teetering on the edge of breaking down.

She never thought the informant would be him. _Him._ The man she loved.

The bartender shoved her the tequila shot that she ordered after the guy with dirty blonde hair left. Unable to will herself to move her hand to touch the glass, she gazed at the dainty container. Strands of her chocolate-colored hair broke free from the miniature bobby pin, and she shook her head to get rid of that rogue strand.

Not even Oscar's promise of an anniversary dinner could cheer her up anymore.

As she sat alone in the bar, Natara found herself in a maze without an end. Her mind wandered aimlessly through the hazy events of the past, the anecdotes that marked and changed her lives.

It was after that toe-curling kiss that Mal was abducted and promptly pulled into a rented caravan. For the first time since birth, Natara felt complete. She felt whole. Whole, as if nothing but Mal could fill the hollow spot in her heart. Her mind constantly raced back to that eventful wedding with Oscar, which Mal crashed in order to save the entire San Francisco from being gassed. It was on that day when she realized her true feelings towards the choirboy with dazzling cerulean eyes.

She knew, that a part of her still loved Oscar. She knew that she still cared about him. She knew that he had helped her heal when she was scarred by Shawn. She also knew that Mal was the one who was perfect for her.

_Mal._

On that eventful evening two years ago, with the cool nighttime breeze caressing her cheeks, she did the only thing that made sense to her.

_"I'm tired of pretending."_

At this instant, she could hear her own words tumbling out of her tightly pursed lips. Heaving a sigh, she gathered the file and dumped it into her briefcase that suddenly became twice as heavy. That manila folder no longer contained information about a cartel officer named "The American". It also contained the proscriptive story of her love.

_"Detective Mal Fallon."_

She could hear his deep resonating voice reverberating from his toned, muscular chest, shattering the last of her self-defense left standing. She remembered when she witnessed the corpse of Sophie Patterson at Fisherman's Turf. She was suffocated. The mask was tightly plastered onto Sophie's beautiful face, making it haunting and featureless.

Sometimes, Natara wondered if she was true victim under the Maskmaker.

_"Shawn… You need help…"_

She recalled, with perfect clarity, that the profiler that she once loved turned into a bloodthirsty demon. He became a demon who yearned to torment her for revenge. After the shootout in Miami that wounded Shawn accidentally, the mask that she forced onto her face became more secure each day. The long, jagged scar that ran down her left shoulder to her forearm was the perfect reminder of her downfall.

The downfall of Natara Mansingh Williams.

Mal was the first one that she felt attracted to upon landing to San Francisco. Even Ken, who died while saving Amy, didn't hold the same attraction to her.

In fact, she instantly felt an invisible hand push her straight into Mal's warm, muscular arms. She sensed warmth and care for the first time since she was kicked out of home in college. For the first time in the thirty-two years of her existence, she felt warmth emanating from a stranger. She deciphered the language that he spoke was _love_.

_Love._

The perpetual yearning, the eternal longing, the devastating calamity - were caused by this evil word of four little alphabets.

At the same time, however, she was afraid of falling in love. The only person she had loved except family was Jane, her deceased best friend that was always by her side. When she started working at the FBI, Shawn gradually found his way into her heart. Soon she began letting her tall walls down to a point of no return. Shawn had transformed into an utter demonic being that was determined to avenge on her.

Natara Williams, the brunette that had everything, was afraid of loving others. That was why she refused to let Mal call her by Nat once they met on Fisherman's Turf. She loved the nickname, the nickname that reminded her of Shawn and how he was injured all thanks to her.

Despite being the successful profiler, Natara was an insecure girl. Work was the sole distraction she had for herself, the driving force for her to forget everything that happened in Miami. She knew she had to start a new life in San Francisco. She couldn't let this little choirboy with dirty blonde hair and dazzling azure eyes mess up her plan of recovery.

It didn't help her.

Instead, it hurt her even more.

Exiting the club wordlessly, the chilly air and light drizzle welcomed her. She strolled aimlessly on the street, letting her black stilettos hit against the cement rhythmically. As she strolled, something caught her sight.

It was a newly-opened candy store, fascinating to everyone. Pushing the door open, she was surprised to find the store still open at midnight; but she was more surprised at finding who was at the counter.

A pair of sparkling green irises held Natara's gaze. The owner of the emerald orbs stood up in shock. Her midnight hair was cascading down her back, covering half of her face. Natara froze momentarily. A million question was popping up in her mind, demanding answers.

"Hi Natara," Raven Logan waved gently, yet the haunted look and sadness was obvious in her eyes. "Do you miss him?"

"Who?"

"Uncle Mal," Raven swallowed, her eyes became glassy.

"Oh Raven," Natara walked around the counter and softly pulled Raven into an embrace, "I miss him. I do, but I'm married now."

Raven's eyes almost bulged out of here sockets. Hesitating for a while, she guided Natara to the back of the store where a miniature carousel sat. Seeing the tiny carousel, Natara could almost picture a kid with mahogany hair and sapphire blue brown eyes sitting on the carousel, smiling as if the world didn't matter.

_Mini Mals._

The instant thought confirmed her feelings. Deep in her heart, Natara knew she loved Mal Fallon dearly. After his disappearance, Natara spent days and nights looking for him. Oscar had told her that Mal was probably taken away by a private jet and helped her obtain information. Yet, nothing was found.

Malachi Charles Fallon disappeared from San Francisco, California, United States of America after Natara Williams kissed him.

Somehow, it was her fault that Mal was taken away. Had she kept her feelings under control and refrained from stopping by Mal's residential complex, she wouldn't have caught him at the entrance. She wouldn't have kissed him. Mal would have been gone before his flat exploded and he was abducted.

He gave her the best five minutes in her life.

She was the one who turned the world around.

She was the one who kissed him out of the blue.

She was the indirect cause of his abduction.

It was all her fault.

It was her fault that Mal, Oscar and her had to suffer now.

* * *

_Knock knock._

_Grudgingly, Natara slowly trudged to the door, with a glass of rum in her hands. The visitor was certainly not expected, especially after how she broke his heart a year ago._

_The one and only District Attorney, Oscar Santos._

_Stepping aside, Natara let Oscar enter her apartment and sat on the couch._

_"Hello," Natara mumbled._

_"Hey," Oscar replied, "this was hard on you, wasn't it?" He was referring to Mal's disappearance exactly half a year ago on that eventful day. The day when the infamous Reese Gables decided to detonate an N-13 gas bomb at Natara and his wedding. The day when Mal Fallon crashed the wedding to save the entire San Francisco. The day when his heart broke all over again._

_Wordlessly, Natara nodded. "I know this place looks like a mess... I barely use it anymore." What she meant was that she was sleeping on the lounge in the precinct five days or more per week._

_"What about the alcohol? I knew Natara wouldn't drink such strong drinks."_

_"I've been on it for quite a while... I couldn't forget about Mal, nor the pain of losing him right after I owned up my feelings to him," she looked at the ground, analyzing the geometry of which the carpet held._

_"Natara," Oscar awkwardly began, "you need to stay strong. Fallon will hate to see you so weak, so feeble and so hopeless. If you have to find him and help him, you need to break away from this alcohol. You need to get proper rest on your bed instead of that crappy couch in the lounge. You heard me?"_

_Natara nodded._

* * *

Half a year after that painful night, Natara began to hang out with Oscar. She slowly noticed that the gash in her heart slowly began mending, and smiles began appearing on here face more often. When Oscar proposed again, she did hesitate. She deliberated whether she would make a good and faithful wife to Oscar when she was irrevocably in love with another person.

Nonetheless, she accepted.

She had seen a report saying that Mal's corpse was discovered in Indiana, and she numbly accepted the truth after some weeping. She had decided, that Mal was no longer alive. She convinced herself that he wouldn't be there to make the sweet Fallon-styled proposal to her. She realized that no man on this earth would ever take the place that Mal occupied in her heart.

Still, she accepted Oscar's proposal. She knew that she couldn't commit herself to loving Oscar like how she loved Mal. Yet, she could commit to be the good devoted wife, couldn't she?

Natara knew she loved Oscar, but she also totally comprehended that she was in love with Mal.

She understood that it was cruel to put Oscar through this again. However, if Oscar decided to propose again, did that mean he understood Natara's heart?

* * *

**Mal** knew he made the biggest mistake in his life when he pulled the trigger to kill the brujo two years ago. It was that shot that made him what he was at present. The tiny gesture made him The American.

Surely he had felt a twinge of regret and guilt when he decided to trade his SFPD badge for a Flores Drug Cartel badge, but hell! He wanted to get over that he couldn't see _his_ Natara for the rest of his life.

The connection he shared with Natara was unrealistically real. He married Sandra Taggart. Did he love her? Perhaps... Yes? He was so pissed at her infidelity and his heart _did_ break. He dated Tasha to get over Sandra, but did he fall in love with her? Nope. Did he fall in love with the sick Selene Mensra? Hell no.

No other women got him bewitched as _Natara Williams_. The brunette got him enchanted, healed his heart that was apathetically slashed by Sandra. She was his partner and saved his life numerous times. She even risked her life to save him.

Now, the billion dollar question was: _Did you have any feelings towards Natara Williams?_

_Damn, yes._

At the bottom of his heart, despite being molded into a lethal killing machine, a part of him still cared for the Creepy FBI Mind-Reading Agent. He still recalled with perfect clarity that his heart fluttered when she flipped her hair. His fists did clench involuntarily when Kai called her Agent Boom Bottie Hottie. His self-control almost snapped when he knew she was trapped in a sewer alone with Shawn.

He had never been so captivated by a woman before.

_Mal Goddamn Fallon, you're busted._

His guts told him it was wrong to set foot into that club, but two years of cartel training had taken the ability of following his guts from him. Shooting had become his instinct. Once he stepped in, he knew he made another deadly mistake.

Natara Williams was sitting alone there, smiling at a text message.

_It was Oscar._

Controlling his simmering anger, he strolled coolly over to her.

"Hey," he said quietly, his voice low and almost inaudible.

"Oh... Oh my god... It's you... It's really you," Natara gasped, her hand flying to her heart and clutching it.

"All this time.. Every one else thought you were dead, but I knew... I knew you were out there somewhere..." Natara rambled on, and Mal could feel his heart shattering. _You sicko, you put her through so much - what did you expect? Waiting for you to come back?_

"Yeah. About that." He replied absently.

As Natara rose, intending to sit beside him, he stopped her.

"Actually, it'd be better if you stayed there."

"What... What are you talking about? What's wrong?" Her eyes filled with concern.

"You know damn well what's wrong. Don't play around, Natara. I know you figured it out."

Natara hesitated, before spilling the truth that she deciphered. "So it's true. You've been working for the Salazar cartel."

"'Working is a funny word for it. I might have gone with 'killing, torturing and stealing.'" Mal scowled. He grimaced inwardly as he remembered how he used to wince at needles and Natara would tease him, but he couldn't let the past memories overwhelm him and make him forget what he came for.

Mal continued after pausing, "And you know what? I don't mind a bit."

Natara had a sharp intake of breath. "Oh Mal, what did they do to you?"

He held up his palm. _Now, that was exactly why he didn't tell Natara when he came back a month after he was kidnapped. _"No. Don't pity me. And don't make excuses. I made the choice to cross one moral line. Then another. Then another. And soon enough, I couldn't even remember why I'd ever had any moral lines to begin with."

Natara lunged across the table and grabbed his rough, weathered hands in her petite ones.

"Mal, please.. You were kidnapped, tortured, brainwashed... I can help you," She pleaded.

He jerked his hand away.

"There's no help for me, Natara. So don't try. Stop looking for me. Stop digging._ Leave me alone_."

Slowly standing up and fixing his coat, he prolonged every word. "This was a warning. Next time... I won't be so nice."

He turned to leave, leaving Natara stunned and flabbergasted.

He shivered as he left the club in the rain, his teeth clattering. He regretted walking out on Natara - again - when he could help it. He knew he couldn't bear to see Natara's heart break again, yet he couldn't face Natara... especially with her wedding band on her index finger.

_If only I hadn't pulled that damn trigger! I wouldn't have joined that Salazar cartel! Hell, what the heck were I even doing at that time?_

Clenching his fist, he punched the nearest wall. "Dammit!" He gritted his teeth.

"Mal... You're back," A delighted voice rang behind him, and he spun around only to find a blonde with blue eyes.

"Blaise?" He squinted his eyes. "Don't come any closer."

Blaise's expression blanked.

"Just don't." He repeated, almost pleading.

"Fine. Have it your way." Obviously annoyed at Mal's distant behaviour, she headed to the club.

* * *

**Natara** sat on the carousel, looking down in deep meditation.

"Natara..."

Natara looked up immediately, and saw a blonde, her blue eyes piercing into her brown ones.

"Blaise?"

The blonde nodded. "I saw Mal."

"I know."

"Why didn't you tell me, Natara? We haven't been the best of friends, but gosh! Anders will be pissed, but at least he'd be back in the force!" Blaise scowled.

"He can't," Natara softly mumbled.

"What?"

"He can't," Taking a deep breath, Natara continued.

"You remember the killer? The American?" Natara stared straight into Blaise's azure eyes, and they widened in realization.

"Shoot," Blaise muttered, "What the hell do we do?"

Natara looked down at the ground again. She _knew_ she had to help Mal, even if he refused. It was an _obligation_ to her, after how they saved each others' lives at work before. Those were the good times when the duo would go to Sean's to have a nice supper after paper work.

Those times were within reach, yet unreachable. She longed for Mal's company when she tracked down suspect. She yearned for Mal's jokes when she was sulking at paper work.

_I miss Mal._

She looked up, eyes blazing with determination.

"I'll find him. I will. Even if he threatens to shoot me and tells me to get the hell out of his way. I am going to save him," Natara declared.

_And I will do anything to find him, even if it means losing my job and going into the cartel._

* * *

**Originally uploaded on 10/20/2012, rewritten on 2/8/2013**

**Sorry for all these fuss! A friend gave me some really good advice on editing and so I had to do it :)**


	2. Conflicts

**Sorry for keeping you all waiting :P Thanks for your review guys! :D I originally intended for this to be a one shot, but I left an open ending in Chapter 1, and you all are so encouraging and wants me to continue... So here is the second chapter!**

**Mozzi-Girl: ooh, thanks :) I was actually thinking if I should continue writing this, but you gave me the idea to :D Unlike my usual first-person writing style, this is something new that I'm trying. Describing emotions with third person :) thanks for encouraging!**

**bugreid: O_O thanks; and your stories aren't half bad either, heh :D **

**diamondsintheroughhh: thanks for your review :D /blushes/**

**animiction: Thanks dearie! I love how you describe Kagome's conflict in "Kagome's Anthology" too :D**

**Crimson Endings (Tori): Thanks, and I love your stories as well!**

**NatXOscarShipper: Thanks! I haven't been playing CoD for long, I only started when Shawn was discovered to be the Kraken, yeah. I'll get him show his badass side soon, now that you mention it :)**

**But I Have Promises To Keep: First, I love your user name... And miles to go before I sleep :D and thanks!**

* * *

**Natara **knew she had to help Mal, no matter what. She wasn't the type of girl to give up easily, and it was definite that she would rip the world apart just to help Mal get back to his normal life.

Even if it meant leaving everything behind her. Even if she had to leave the precinct, her sister or Oscar.

_Oscar._

She completely understood that she never fell in love with him. Never had she been captivated in a kiss that she shared with Oscar. Never had she felt protected from the world when Oscar was by her side.

She comprehended that it would be cruel to leave Oscar for Mal, especially when Oscar had mended her broken heart - almost. From the bottom of her heart, she knew that a part of her still loved Oscar - she wasn't in love with him though.

_You never stop loving someone._ That's what Natara learnt when Mal was cruelly taken away from her two years ago. Mal had been abducted for two years, brainwashed and tormented until he became _The American_. He crossed moral lines after moral lines, until he was completely caught up in the haze and lost himself.

That wasn't the Mal Fallon she knew. The Mal Fallon she knew wasn't a by-the-book detective, yet he wouldn't go so far as to kill and "uphold justice". She was still grateful that Mal recognized that he had crossed moral lines; that was one thing that kept her sane and refrained her from yanking onto Mal's collar and shrieking sense in his face.

_Esmeralda Salazar, what did you do to my choirboy?_

A part of her wanted to leave Oscar; she had never loved him more than a good friend. However, she was brought to follow marriage rules - she was raised to love only her husband, nobody else. She couldn't bear to leave Oscar once again when she already broke his heart two years ago, only that his heart had also healed with Natara.

Yes, she loved Mal, but she wasn't willing to move on. She love the choirboy who winced at the sight of bodies, not the man that looked at corpses with a haunted and distant look in his azure orbs. She loved the choirboy who cracked jokes by the water cooler and on the squad car, not the killer who glared at display of sympathy and kindness. She fell in love with the choirboy who gathered her in his arms when she cried, not the person who pushed here away when she wanted to crush him in a warm embrace.

_The American_ was no longer Mal Fallon. He was no longer the Malachi Charles Fallon that got Natara Williams enchanted and captivated.

* * *

**Mal **went back to his old apartment, untouched since he left the room to look for Nat two years ago after he crashed the wedding. Everything was left intact, just like how he remembered; yet he couldn't feel that he belonged to this place. Everything had changed drastically, had gone through a metamorphosis.

Or, was it _he_who metamorphosed?

He never knew Natara was capable of showing such intense emotions; the Natara Williams who almost broke into tears in front of her was unknown to him. Did he miss how Natara changed, or did he forget about Natara Williams?

_Definitely not._

So it couldn't be him who changed completely. As much as he hated to admit, Natara and Blaise and others had changed, and he was the one who remained unchanged and unfazed.

If this was the case, how could he choose to cross moral lines, one after one another, until he wasn't sure whether he had any moral lines to begin with?

He couldn't let go. At all.

He couldn't let go of that_ mind-reading freak FBI Agent Natara Williams._

That's why he refused an arrangement of marriage from Pablo Salazar to his nephew, Rosalyn Salazar. He knew that the elegant calligraphy of Natara Williams were engraved deep onto his iron heart, and it couldn't even be eliminated by the strongest flame in the world.

_Malachi Charles Fallon, when on hell did you become a hopelessly cheesy romantic? _

_No, _Mal reasoned, _no way on earth._ He knew he had to cut all ties with his old life, and he seriously contemplated marrying Rosalyn. She was pretty and looked a bit like Natara, so why shouldn't he use a replacement?

_No, dude. Are you like, crazy or something? How will Nat feel?_ His inner voice reasoned.

But she got back together with Oscar. The Hispanic who didn't love Natara as much as he did; yet somehow, they ended up together again. How could Natara end up with someone she didn't love, he honestly had no idea. Was that a hint for him to move on?

_"Dude, if I were you, I wouldn't marry Rosalyn," Carlito spoke suddenly, holding onto a shot of tequila. They were in the lounge of General Salazar's castle, slumped over the bar table._

_"What gave you rights to say this, Carlito?" Mal spat bitterly, "You are in love with Esmeralda, Carlito; I could see it in your eyes. So shut the hell up and let me drink."_

_"Who said I were in love with Esme? I never even liked her."_

_"You wouldn't even experience the pain of loving someone for three whole years, only to have crashed her wedding, confessed to her and ended up in this hell hole!" Mal stood up abruptly, slamming his fist onto the table._

_"Trust me, I do," Carlito spoke with a calmed composure, yet his eyes were undeniably flaming with rage and regret._

_"Oh really? Do tell."_

_"I was in love with my next door neighbor, and she was also from a prestigious family. She was the daughter of a transnational textile conglomerate chief executive officer, and I proposed to her before I got shipped here. My father basically blackmailed me into the nuptial with Esmeralda to unite the cartels."_

_Mal listened with sympathy and silently told Carlito to continue._

_"Lauren... she hung herself in my room." Carlito buried his face into his palms._

_"You've got to be kidding, bro," When did you even start calling Carlito your brother, Mal?_

_"Dude, that's true. I left without further delay for San Trobida because I couldn't simply bear with the thought of my Lauren haunting the Flores mansion."_

_"Guess we're more alike than we thought then, Carlito," Mal slapped his back. Carlito broke into a sad grin, and smacked Mal on the fist._

* * *

**Natara** could almost feel the physical pain - Mal's words were like swords stabbing relentlessly into her fragile heart. Blood poured fresh from every cut, yet she couldn't feel the pain. Her aching heart overrode her self control, numbed her senses.

Somehow, she knew she had to leave Oscar for Mal, for Mal was her only true love. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to do so. _It'd be so cruel to Oscar,_ she often told herself. _Could you be sure that you'd bring the completely badass choirboy back if you leave Oscar?_

_Could you, Natara? _

_Could you be sure that you would be Princess Williams, walking down the aisle with King Mansingh holding your arm and handing your hand over to Count Fallon?_

_Could you?_

_Admit it, Natara. You've never ever gotten over Mal._

She knew that she should leave Oscar. Dragging things on, and even going on the anniversary dinner with him would only make him suffer unnecessarily longer. He was an honorable man, with a big heart and understanding mind. He would definitely understand Natara's decision.

What about her father? He was immensely disappointed in Natara after she decided to enter law enforcement instead of following his footsteps in global finances and business, but was he happy that she spoke her mind? She knew her father wasn't happy with her marriage; his eyes didn't glitter in joy and care when he took in his son-in-law, unlike how he looked at his wife. She wasn't so stupid to ask her father if she was satisfied and happy; she knew she couldn't bear another scolding. She had had enough when she changed her surname from Mansingh to Williams, cutting all obvious ties with the Mansingh Transnational corporation.

Was she happy in her marriage with Oscar? Neha had often asked her this question, yet she couldn't quite answer it.

She couldn't.

She couldn't bring herself to admit that she didn't love Oscar, that her affection towards him had diminished into thin air once she started treating him as a suspect of the Ladykiller case while she did her job. Oscar had deemed her behavior as her being distrustful, and they only rekindled their relationship after much effort... but should a good relationship be rekindled after much effort, only to remain on-and-off?

What about the proposal? She knew Oscar was being understanding. Considering her age, nearly thirty-one, she might as well remain a spinster. She couldn't bring herself to understanding the motive behind Oscar's proposal in front of the precinct - why couldn't he wait till some other time, when they both were comfortable? Why couldn't he wait until when she was dressed properly, at least in her work clothes, instead of mismatched trousers and blouse?

The more she thought about it, the more she compared Oscar to Mal. Mal definitely would come up with some more unorthodox ways to propose to her. He wouldn't be the one who got down to one knee and did it in the traditional manner. He would most probably go like, "Hell Nat, you've got me enchanted, and I bet your freaky brain with mind-reading abilities already figured out my question. So what's your answer?", while brandishing a down-to-earth, yet stunning, ring in front of her, right in front of her eyes - or even on her holster.

She missed the one who put his hand on his single holster whenever Kai got under his skin, not the one who was cold and unapproachable, with two holsters on his belt.

Natara knew she had to take action - fast - yet she couldn't do so.

She couldn't hurt another person anymore.

* * *

**Mal **was shocked - that was an understatement. He never expected Carlito to be married to Esmeralda for some exchange crap; he thought Esmeralda used her beauty as a snare and manipulated Carlito into marrying her. Carlito wasn't so dense, after all.

The idea of leaving the cartel business behind overwhelmed him. He knew he had to go back to Natara, his one and only true love; yet he couldn't put everyone associated with him at risk of Pablo Salazar's threats. He had no doubts that he would be the one who hired snipers to splatter his brains if he dared to talk about boarding a private jet.

Was he willing to sacrifice the "future", the "prospect"?

Could people accept him after he disappeared and was reported dead after two years?

What would Nat, Blaise, Jeremy, Kai, Amy, or even Chuckle Anders do when they knew what he was up to during the course of these two years?

The more he thought, the more he felt uneasy. He had betrayed the trust that everyone had in him, and turned into a complete savage. A complete barbarian with nothing but blood lust to care about. A lethal automaton who cared about nothing but killing. He couldn't believe he had been so selfish. Natara was the one who plucked up her courage to confess to him right after _he _crashed her wedding. That was enough to show that she trusted him, wasn't it? He could very well trust Natara not to spill the secret to anyone. He couldn't let anyone know that he is _The American_ - that would break Cynthia's heart, Angela's trust, the precinct's faith in him. It would crush Jacob, the rogue captain who first threw himself into the cartel.

Where was the Mal Fallon who swore that he had nothing to do with the cartels? Where was the one who sneered at his father's disdainful act and refused to call him "father"? Where was the hatred for his father?

Most of all, how could he bear to leave Natara heartbroken, to leave her married to Oscar?

He could finally feel the demise of humanity after these two years. He finally opened up his heart that was sealed with steel over time, and a silent tear rolled out of his eye.

He could feel his soul slowly colorizing again. He felt vigor slowly making its way into his veins, penetrating his arteries and veins and finally reaching his heart. Never had his heart beaten with such energy and vitality before.

It was as if he found a new meaning to life.

To find Natara Williams.

* * *

**Natara** understood completely that she had to find Mal, to rescue him from that deep pit of Hades before he reached the point of no return. She couldn't let others suffer, yes; but she couldn't let Mal suffer, above all. She could see from his eyes, though securely concealed, the hollow soul that was threatening to break his heart and shatter his life once it wasn't under tight guard.

When she looked into his eyes, the eyes didn't belong to the badass choirboy that she knew. It belonged to a stranger - T_he American_. _The American_ had snatched the man she knew away, and didn't return it; not even under the tight claws of fate.

Her phone vibrated, signalling a new call.

"Hi dear," She spoke into the phone, with a small smile painted on her lips. She already knew what she had to do.

"Hey there, beautiful. Are you ready for our anniversary dinner yet?" Oscar's unmistakably cheerful voice rang form the other end of the receiver. She couldn't believe that she was about to hurt this man - the man who helped her move on, the one who helped her to cope with Mal;s disappearance, the one who forced her to sleep on a proper bed after sleeping on a couch in the SFPD lounge room for half a year, living on a bottle of rum.

"I'll be ready in thirty. Pick me up!" She said cheerfully. She already had the perfect dress in mind - black cocktail dress, with shimmering silver lining on the edges. That was the dress that she planned to wear for the departure to the honeymoon venue; the only remaining dress that Mal hadn't seen.

She hoped that she was in time to catch Mal, to make him realise that he wasn't alone.

She had already made up her mind. If Mal wasn't going to return to normalcy in San Francisco, she would be the one to drag him back.

And she wasn't intimidated by the prospect by a single bit. She had already determined, and myriad plans appeared in her mind instantaneously. She wasn't going to let anyone destroy her plan, not even the cartel that held Mal hostage and changed him into a cold-blooded killer.

However, first things first. She had to tell Oscar about her decision... and deep down, she knew Oscar wouldn't be very happy for his sake, but happy for her.

She could already feel a part of herself releasing and relaxing, the first time in two years since Mal;s abduction. The attempts that the SFPD had put on were rendered futile, and no records could be traced of his whereabouts. _Damn cartels._

__Natara had already decided that she would, at all costs, bring Malachi Charles Fallon back to the world where she and he both knew, instead of the Salazar cartel headquarters that could never be called home - there were no friends, no families, no love. She couldn't leave him alone there, in his solitary lifestyle, any longer. She had had enough.

_Wait for me, Mal; I'm coming to save you from your descent down inhumanity. I'm not going to let you slip away from my hands when I can tightly hold onto you and never let go. _

* * *

**I know this ended quite abruptly, but I knew I had to update somehow, to prevent you throwing .26 revolvers at me or snapping my collarbone like Jeremy did in V10C5 xD This is NOT going to be a long story -I'm thinking of around ten chapters at most? Updates will be terribly infrequent :( My apologies. But I'm a massive nerd and I've got tonnes of work to work on, especially the Year Book. I swear my life's going to be cut few years short if people keep on pissing me off -_-**

**Until next time! Stay tuned, and please review :) They motivate me to keep on writing x**


	3. Despair

**I. AM. SO. SORRY. D: I know words can't actually possibly show my apology and regret for not updating Metamorphosis or Amorous Annihilation, but boy I'm really tired and stressed out after the exam and during break. I can only write now since our school is having Easter break, and I need to get my mind off the stress from the previous weeks. **

**Enough with my rant though, and t****hanks for the reviews by the way! They made me smile :D**

**Mozzi-girl (Molly): Thanks for being so understanding Molleh! Your review actually made me smile so much that I felt everything is worth it, and that people actually understand :D Thanks x**

**Crimson Endings (Tori): Aww don't worry Tori, you'll love this chapter I promise!**

**My Quiet Riot (Kimberly): Thanks! :D**

**treetop132: Thanks! And I shall now proudly present you with another update :D**

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**Warning: This chapter contains hints of insanity. You have been warned.**

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Natara took a deep breath as she arrived at the table that Oscar had booked for their anniversary. She knew that it was a harsh timing to announce her decided departure, but she couldn't think of any other time. To her, idling for one second was equivalent to letting 0.1% probability to save Mal from the dungeon go. Knowing more than well how much Oscar did to construct the family that they decided to establish - childless nonetheless - when she wasn't even in love with him.

_I'm sorry, Oscar. You don't deserve this._

Oscar had already arrived at the table. Standing up, he walked around the table and helped Natara pull her chair. He noticed Natara's absence of reluctance when he did so, contrary to what happened before; little did he know that was the last time for him to do this to his wife.

Leaning over to kiss his wife's hand affectionately, he noticed Natara's tightly pursed lips.

"What's up sweetie? You look so dejected. Are you not feeling well? We could always delay-" He stopped when he looked at his wife again in the eyes. For the first time in his life, he saw a tinge of puffiness and redness rimming her eyes.

"Oscar, I can't."

"What, Nat?"

Taking a deep breath, Natara continued. "I'm sorry, Oscar. He... He is back."

No matter how reluctant was Natara, she couldn't deny the fact that Oscar was a good friend friend - the good friend that almost took Mal's place in her heart.

Almost.

She confided in Oscar when she witnessed Mal being kidnapped, when Mal simply disappeared from faces of the Earth on the day when their wedding was crashed to stop a biochemical claustrophobia.

She told Oscar about her feelings towards Mal. How foolish did that sound, Oscar was the complete gentlemen. He didn't throw a fit when he knew his wife's heart would never be with him, nor demand a divorce immediately. He knew this when she hesitated at the altar, hesitated the two words with three letters that would seal their destiny together.

She had hurt him. A lot.

Yes, that was true. Natara did hurt him; the pain was comparable to that when his ex-wife divorced him because of his long working hours. Initially he was afraid to pop the question, to ask Natara to marry him, but he thought it would be the appropriate time - after all, he was sure that Mr. Mansingh would not object to his daughter getting married, would he?

It seemed, however, he misjudged the situation.

"He is back?" Oscar softly asked, as if soothing a severely traumatized and devastated little girl.

Natara nodded.

He knew this day would come. He knew Mal Fallon would come back some day to claim his love. He knew Mal Fallon wasn't dead; it was just something in him that pushed him to think so.

"Do you want to go back to him, Nat?"

She looked at him with glistening olive irises.

"I'm okay with whatever decision you make, dear. I just want you to be happy," he grasped her frail hands in his on the table.

Natara frantically looked around, before gesturing Oscar to lean closer.

"He is back, true..." she took a deep breath, "but he has changed."

Oscar hesitated for a moment before the revelation struck him. His, jaw went slack in shock.

"He... He joined... He joined the empire?" he cautiously asked. Natara nodded.

"You remember about my supposed meeting with the witness?"

Oscar nodded, his eyebrows furrowed deep in thought.

"Well... the witness was him himself. He didn't change much... Still the same hair, same eyes..." _No,_ her inner voice argued, _he changed. A lot. Could you recognize that pair of hatred-filled, hollow eyes?_

"But he.. He changed, Oscar. He is no longer the one who I loved 2 years ago and spent ages hunting after. He is not that badass but moral detective anymore... He has joined the cartel after swearing that he wouldn't take after his father! What possessed him to do so? He can I trust a person whom I love, but broke his very promise to himself? How-"

Oscar interrupted her, holding her trembling palms. "Look into my eyes, Natara. Do you still love him?"

She was unable to meet his penetrating gaze, and ducked her head until her hair was hanging over her face, concealing it behind a thick, jet-black woven silk curtain. Retracting one of her hands from Oscar's hand, she clamped here mouth shut. She didn't want anyone to wonder if Oscar made her cry, when she was the one inflicting so much pain.

Guilt was overriding her ability to think, to ration, to conjecture. The remorse of inflicting so much pain on Oscar, on leading him, on her inability to yank Mal from the masked men before his abduction was eating at her from the very inside. She could o longer decipher glee or pain. Part of herself was glad to have Oscar as her best friend when Mal was away, as a confidante. Yes, Oscar loved her more than her reciprocated affection, but she was about to hurt the one who was with her for the past one year and a half, slowly mending her crushed heart when Mal was busy "working".

"Natara?"

"Yes Oscar?" she murmured without looking up.

"Nat, I know you. You love Mal, not me. I understand completely, and I'm not going to decline you the right and freedom to seek your true love. I am not that cruel to chain you by my side, Natara. You deserve better than me."

As his words registered in her mind, she looked up in shock.

"Oscar-"

"Natara, I don't deserve you. You deserve someone better like Fallon. As much as I dislike him for leaving you hanging in purgatory and running off to join… them, I can never deny the fact that you love him, not me. I understand that you wanted to get over him, but true love can't be ignored nor gotten over." Oscar kept his calm posture, yet Natara could see himself crumbling slowly deep inside.

_I'm sorry, Oscar._ She thought. It was wrong of her to lead him on, to lead him to think that she still had some remaining feelings towards him.

She was in the wrong, after all. She was the one that loved Mal irrevocably, and she held nothing but friendly regard and admiration towards Oscar.

And there she was, trying to apologize for leading Oscar on. Words could not do justice to the regret coursing through her. The beef mignon she didn't recall ordering tasted of nothing but the distinct salty taste of tears.

She didn't remember acknowledging the fact that she had finished the posh meal, nor the fact that Oscar had paid. She was drowned in remorse, in regret, in grief.

She found herself standing up, forcing a smile on her face.

She remembered walking to the entrance of the restaurant.

She remembered Oscar taking her into his arms.

With one last embrace, they came to the restaurant as husband and wife, and left as friends.

* * *

Mal sat alone in his hotel room, booked under an alias of Ian Somerhalder. He swirled the glass of whiskey in his hand, contemplating the next step.

He _knew_ he had to find Natara Williams; he _knew_ he had never stopped loving her. He _knew_ his heart belonged to her, even when he locked his heart up.

He couldn't understand the emotion of love, but he understood the need to take care of her. Natara had captured his heart, and she trusted him with his life.

_How could you be so cruel, Mal? How could you push her away, when she was plain glad to meet you? _He could virtually hear Blaise screaming in his ear, yelling some sense into his thick skull.

His skull _was_ thick though. After two years of cartel training, his physique strengthened, and he was virtually indestructible.

Not when it came to matters of the heart.

He refused to believe that he had pulled the trigger to the gun to kill the brujo. He refused to believe how easily he gave into to savagery and the demise of humanity that was slowly crumbling in his world.

As his mind struggled, he began to realize how wrong he had been. He was an absolute idiot, a moron that failed to see the person who loved him and trusted him with he life before him. He failed to admit to himself that he _cared_ about Natara, even if he voluntarily cut off all connections with the old life that he was snatched away from. He had been concerned about Natara, worried that she could have been injured or killed by the men he commanded under General Salazar's orders.

Sipping his whiskey, he stared blankly into space.

That was when he caught sight of a palette knife on a cluster of clotted cream. He had no idea why that even existed in his room; it perhaps was from the scones that he devoured on, before he left for the bar.

_That looks eerily familiar, _Mal thought, _hell, that looked like-_

An agonizing cry resonated through the room. Mal realized, a minute later, that the scream had come from his throat. The impact of the screech ripped his throat, making him gasp for breath, trying to soothe the scorching pain in his windpipe.

His mind was in a turmoil, his thoughts entangled in a mess that was messier than the mess made by kittens from a ball of wool. He couldn't concentrate on a single strand of thoughts; he couldn't will his brain to think. His eyes were fazed and held a feverish glint of despair and grief, his hair soaked in sweat that suddenly emerged from his body. His hands trembled like leaves under the strong wind of winter, his face was of the flushed crimson color that showed signs of hypertension.

His lungs constricted painfully; he couldn't breathe. For the first time in his life, he was struck by so heavy a sense of immense guilt and grief, that couldn't be rivaled by the sadness brought by his mother's death. He was torn between two worlds: to return to the old ways, or to stay as it was.

He was torn.

The particular palette knife, that particular cluster of clotted cream - they all brought back the unwanted and feared memories. The fear of witnessing another girl with red hair, suffocated to death with a fine plaster of white over their youthful faces, drugged with succinylcholine. The dreaded drug and mask, the dreaded pursuit, the dreaded deception - everything was branded into his mind. He couldn't forget a single thing at all, even though the things that he did when he was no longer sure which moral line did he cross couldn't erase that part from his mind.

Everything haunted him.

Another traumatizing yell ripped through his throat, and he wasn't even surprised at the lack of attention towards his hotel room. Perhaps it was because it was soundproof, perhaps it was because he was drowned in devastation to notice; he didn't care.

Mal let out scream after scream, shaking his eardrums to the point of discomfort and pain. He could no longer care about his physical state or mental state of mind; he was lost in fear, distress and memories. He didn't pay any attention to the crawling, toxic tarantula that bared its fangs at him, he didn't notice a man with an eerie mask prowling, waiting for the perfect moment to strike and stab through his pounding heart. He didn't see a figure in a blood red hood, holding a thick rope and a guillotine model.

He didn't notice anything surrounding him.

Not until when the spider bit him in the arm.

Mal shrieked – again, not in agony, but in pain and terror. He shook his arm, his legs, his entire torso, trying to rid his arms from its fangs. He picked up the nearest weapon, which, ironically, happened to be the palette knife, and slashed at the masked and hooded figures. He spun around, nearly twisting his ankle, only to be met by silence.

Yet, dare he let his guard down?

He hesitated for a moment, and that was when a silver dumbbell flew from nowhere, aiming at his skull. Ducking narrowly in the nick of time, the dumbbell missed him, crashing into the wall and sending mists of cement and ash everywhere. He choked from the mist, struggling to breathe. His eyes fluttered to a close, in an attempt to stop the mist from drying up his eye and robbing him of his eyesight –

"Ayeeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" an ear-shattering screech found its way from Mal's throat, and exploded into the silent air of San Franciscan night. He bolted upright, momentarily dazed at his surroundings.

_My name is Malachi Charles Fallon. I am The American. I am a part of the Salazar cartel in San Trobida. I am booking a hotel room under an alias of Ian Somerhalder. I am an ex-SFPD detective – _

A searing spasm of pain tore through his heart, and he fell back onto his king-sized bed, panting for breath. _Was it so hard to remember the past?_

His body's reaction told him so. If remembering the past didn't bring him more guilt, what else could reminisce bring? A healed heart? A smile constantly on his face? A person that he desperately loved?

_Yes._ His inner conscience said with undeniable determination. _You love her, idiot. Stop denying your heart_.

Letting out a distressed cry, Mal got up from his bed. He had made his decision.

* * *

He couldn't take the guilt anymore.

He spun around the room, threw the scanty belongings he had brought to San Francisco to his suitcase. Whipping out his phone, he called the pilot of the Salazars, demanding a private flight to be arranged to pick him up in the next morning at 4am.

He stomped down the stairs, not wanting to undergo the trouble and consume time to wait for the elevator. It took several minutes only, given he only had a light suitcase to carry.

He walked over to the reception, handed the lady his key. With a gentle "Goodbye, Mr. Somerhalder", he hailed a cab for the airport.

Mal put on his sunglasses, disguising himself from public light. Unlike the usual attire of blue shirt and faded black jeans that he wore for his jobs, he changed into a white shirt with an indigo tie, and completed the outfit with a pair of black dress pants.

Leisurely strolling up the counter for private flights, he gave the man his ID, this time under Patrick Chatre. Mal was ushered to the plane almost immediately, the man at the counter probably intimidated by his presence.

As he stepped onto the jet, he contemplated the words to be said to General Salazar. He was his favourite warrior; he would let him do whatever he please. He could deceive him, and tell him that he wanted a vacation far away from his past and his present – that could do the job of convincing General Salazar to let him leave for half a year.

He wouldn't return.

Nobody would know of his plans. Nobody, not even Carlito Flores, whom he had started to befriend and trust, would hear of his plan. Though, he would drop a puny hint for him to guess his whereabouts, and he trusted Carlito to be smart enough to keep his mouth shut and swear to secrecy.

After what seemed for an eternity, the plane landed on the roof of the Salazar palace. Mal hopped down, and dumped his baggage into his room. He thought of telling Carlito before telling the General, but that'd be disrespectful and it could cost his life.

Muttering under his breath, he walked towards the General's office.

Not bothering with etiquette, Mal pushed the wooden door to General Salazar's office open, and was greeted by a smirking Rosalyn Salazar, as well as a solemn and faintly scowling General.

General Salazar did a double take when he glanced at Mal and took sight of his dishevelled appearance, but his face showed practised indifference, only with a slight hint of smile that said, _welcome back, American_.

"Fallon, I've been expecting a visit from you. Take a seat."


	4. Dehumanization

**This chapter makes me decide to rate this fic as T, or possibly M. It depends on future events. You have been warned.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Cause of Death.**

**(Author's note and review replies are at the bottom)**

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**Chapter 4: Dehumanization**

Mal was fuming as he trudged down the streets of Miami and headed towards his Mercedes. His once innocent blue eyes were filled with an inextinguishable fire that threatened to engulf everything in sight. He wore his trench coat, with two adjusted holsters holding two enormous machine guns. A butcher's knife was safely concealed in the right sleeve of his coat, a syringe filled with a lethal dose of chloroform in his left hand.

He was raging.

No, he was _beyond_ furious.

Smacking his head, he tried to keep the torturous scenes from flashing in his mind.

_Fallon, I know you loved her, but can you bear this?_

General Salazar shoved several photographs into Mal's face, forcing him to look at the photos. His eyes went wide as saucers.

_They were hugging._

Oscar Santos and Natara Williams, aka Natara Santos, were embracing each other at the entrance of La Culinarie d'Vilaria. He was holding her by her slender waist; she hid her face in his chest.

_She had moved on. She wouldn't think of you again._

He thought his heart couldn't be broken again. He thought he had hardened into a fierce, reckless, fearless cartel officer; yet he heard the distinct sound of his heart being slashed countless times, his shredded heart trampled on the ground and squished to a mess of blood-red flesh.

_You don't need a heart anymore._

He still preserved an ounce of humanity within him, because he thought he could change. He hoped for a day to sneak away, to apologize to his love, to leave everything behind them and start a new life.

And now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

The blue-eyed cartel officer stomped all the way to his black Mercedes, courtesy of Pablo Salazar. The car was bullet-proof, with tinted windows and tires made of plastics that would deflect any bullets. It was an unlawfully modified vehicle, but did he even give a damn about legalities now?

He could literally feel fumes coming out of his ears as he sped off, down the empty highway. The weathered hands that gripped the steering wheel were of an angry red color, with the knuckles turning deathly pale with each curse word that flew from his mouth.

Who the _hell_ did she think she was married to? Oscar Santos, the pretty boy that couldn't respect her damn job, broke up with her, and begged her to come back to him? What were they both thinking?

True, he wasn't there when Natara needed him the most, and he admitted that it was his fault, that he was being the biggest jerk in the world.

With a cloud of rage engulfing his mind, he stepped on the brakes with too much force than necessary, yanked the key out of the ignition and threw the door open. As he leisurely walked into a warehouse, barely containing his rage, he met his target.

His target, Xavier Borne, knew he would be meeting a Claudius Sven, but he was oblivious to his fate.

He gave a curt nod to Borne, acknowledging his presence, before advancing purposefully towards him. His steps were heavy, the soles of his shoes making contact with the hard, worn out wooden floorboards.

As he stood a foot away from Borne, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Xavier Borne, I assume?" Mal inquired, though he already knew the answers. His brain was busily switching itself from _Fallon mode_ to _American mode_, burying any ounce of humanity remaining in him and forcing the surge of animosity to cloud his thoughts.

"That would be me," Borne replied. "I believe Alejandro sent you to negotiate the rent?"

They were using coded words, so that nobody could guess the true matter they were discussing. When the surveillance cameras would show that they were talking about the monthly rent of the warehouses, the duo could easily escape the aerial vision possessed by the local cops while discussing the price of cannabis.

Mal replied in the affirmative. "Alejandro is currently unavailable to meet with you, so he delegated me to host the negotiation. I have been informed that you would like to rent the warehouses along the shore, seventeen in total?"

"Correct."

"And I have heard that you would like to rent all seventeen of them for one million dollars?"

"That's right."

He could feel his temper flare. _A kilogram of cannabis costs at least twenty thousand bucks! How could he think he could buy one hundred and seventy kilograms of pot with one million dollars?_

A cold chuckle ripped through his throat as he started walking in circles. "I thought you were smarter than that, Borne. It is impossible to rent all of them for one million."

Borne swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing as he flinched at the hard tone of Mal's voice. He had heard nothing of Claudius Sven, so he assumed that he was a relatively harmless person that stayed behind the limelight. He had completely _no_ idea that he was having the honour to face The American in a warehouse.

He had no idea that he was facing The American, either.

"Sven, that's why I'm here to negotiate the price."

The American snarled. "Negotiate? Negotiate, with what? Our brains, or rifles? How can I trust you to stay true to your words, when you've shown that you're nothing but an unscrupulous businessman that is more than eager to squeeze as much money as possible from Alejandro?"

"I'm a man of honour," Sven replied.

"Honour has nothing to do with Alejandro or anything related to him. You, of all people, should be well aware of the fact, especially when you're about to settle a business deal with him." Sven returned a glare so cold that made the room freeze.

The blue-eyed man continued. "You should be aware that negotiation is out of the league when you talk to Alejandro, Borne. Prices are meant to be paid in full."

Borne's eyes widened at the last line. The cold, soulless tone that he used sent shivers down his spine, making the temperature of the room pummel for at least ten degrees. Frankly, he was surprised that there wasn't a gust of chilling, gale force wind sweeping across the abandoned warehouse.

"I assume you have concluded that I am not Claudius Sven."

The final line made Borne's jaw drop in utter shock. He had heard that a certain blue-eyed man with dirty blonde hair was the most brutal officer in the entire cartel, but he didn't notice the mess of sandy, dirty blonde hair resting on the man's head. He couldn't be blamed, however, seeing the distinct hair colour was concealed by a black cap.

The American chuckled. "I guess you know who I am now, Thomas Nottingham? Xavier Borne isn't your real name. It is merely an alias that you adopted to avoid persecution, am I correct?"

"I'm not Sven either. I'm The American," he finished as he stopped in front of Nottingham. He turned around, whipped an altered and silenced machine pistol from his holster, and aimed at Nottingham's brow.

To his surprise, Nottingham laughed. No, it wasn't a sinister laugh; it was a sarcastic, mocking laugh that made The American's ears prick in pain. "As if I will let you take my life, Fallon. I know you. Ex-SFPD detective, kidnapped in front of your apartment complex after kissing your partner and crashing her wedding. What else did I miss?"

"Enough," he growled. His mind was unstable, making him ready to lunge at any person who mentioned the _other_ life that he was trying to forget. He would've willingly gone back and engulf Nat in a bone-crushing hug, but that was only if she hadn't married Oscar. Ready to haul him into a world of unrest and newfound emotional intensity, The American yearned to quench the bloodlust in him. He longed to remove this _stain_ and _trash_ from this world, so that he could leave with his mind at rest and leave all the memories suppressed.

His lips twisted into an evil, sinister smirk. Before either of them could fully register what was happening, Nottingham's temple was whipped by the handle of the machine pistol. He let out a surprised grunt as he faltered and lost his balance. Just as he was about to steady himself and knock the wind out of the cartel officer, the officer stretched out his leg. Nottingham received a hefty kick to his shin. His knees buckled beneath him, sending him sprawling on the floor. The American snickered as he witnessed a rolling Nottingham hissing in pain, and within a blink of an eye, pulled Nottingham to his feet with a vice grip on his jet black hair.

"What do you say now? Ready to regret your decision in attempting to get a chance in negotiating with Alejandro?" The American sneered. He subsequently shook the black-haired man violently, causing his eye balls to shake in their sockets and his teeth to clatter, making an unpleasant sound.

"Nnh!" Nottingham gasped, his voice muffled by the concussion that the shake caused. His mouth was gagged by a plank of wood that was thrust into his mouth when neither of them could pinpoint the exact time. As his tongue struggled to push the plank of wood out of his mouth so that he could talk and defend himself, a beam of light blinded him, making him momentarily close his eyes.

As he opened his eyes a few seconds later, he saw the tip of the knife pressing at the plank of wood that was muting him. He let out an involuntary, muffled groan, dejected at the scenario that the infamous The American had rendered him in.

With a sudden bout of courage springing up from nowhere, Nottingham abruptly pulled himself together. He stood up on his full height, so that he was slightly towering over The American. It was enough to make the blue-eyed officer flinch slightly at the sight of retaliation.

A crack resonated through the abandoned warehouse, as The American's eyes widen in shock. The azure eyes that had been tinted indigo because of rage was now darkened to black, with a slight hint of crimson. _How dare of you!_

Nottingham smirked slightly, glad that he managed to catch him off-guard and deliver a hefty right hook to his cheek. As he was caught up in the moment of triumph, he failed to notice The American recoil. He swung his fist, and an even louder crack emitted from Nottingham's nose. Blood started oozing out of his nose, trickling from his nose, to his chin, and finally dropping to the ground, forming an angry red puddle that was rapidly growing into a crimson lotus.

Nottingham wasn't astonished by the blood; in fact, he had seen enough blood to know that a punch to the nose is only a small deal when he had almost bled to death. He feigned going to the left, as if aiming for The American's stomach, then grabbed his wrist. He had his wrist in a rigid lock, almost dislocating his elbow and shoulder joint in the process. With a swift, accurate kick to the back of The American's knee, he lifted the cartel officer up, and slammed him onto the ground with a classic judo flip.

The American's head was spinning, and he was seeing stars on top of the expanding crimson pool in his eyes. Blindly, he reached out for Nottingham's legs. As he felt a human limb, his hands involuntarily punched the object and swung it. When he felt something give and a curse, he knew he had managed to temporarily immobilized Nottingham - enough to buy himself time to regain full consciousness and alertness.

The American was slowly seeing more shadows underneath the crimson puddle when he felt something hit his broken arm, courtesy of Nottingham's judo flip. It was hit repeatedly, and so were the side of his head, his thigh and his calf. It took him a moment to realize that Nottingham was thrashing wildly on the ground.

All of a sudden, pain he never expected penetrated his shoulder blade. Letting out a primal growl of pain and agony, he turned his head slightly, and was astonished to feel a numbing yet burning sensation at where his neck and shoulder joined.

_Damn, that was where -_

He abruptly cut his thoughts off. That was not the time to think about how Natara would nest her head into the crook of his neck to seek comfort. He was now a warrior, a cartel officer, and he and an FBI agent was destined to be rivals for life, even if the agent was a woman that he loved.

When a stream of rage shot through him, accompanied with pain and agony, his arm leg muscles contracted and relaxed on their own to allow him to stand up again, so that he was towering over Nottingham. He was looming over the broken man beneath him, his shadowing darkening his victim's field of vision. With brute force, he pulled Nottingham to his foot, and started punching him like how he would punch a _certain_ lawyer in his pretty face. Nottingham retreated as The American advanced, until he was cornering his punchbag.

A beam of light to his right caught his attention. Knowing where the window would be leading to, he didn't hesitate to punch Nottingham again in the sternum, grinning as he heard a satisfying breaking sound. The blow was enough to send the broken, zombie-like man through the window, followed by a standing blue-eyed man behind him.

The American stood behind Nottingham, as he dove through the window after Nottingham was thrown - or forced - through it. He saw Nottingham attempt to move his limbs, wriggling on the floor as he did so. He watched, with a cold grimace-like smirk on his face, Nottingham stand on his wobbly legs, moving unsteadily towards him. Step by step, he slowly trudged towards The American, raising his clenched fist and aiming for his blazing red eyes with a blue hue barely discerned.

Nottingham stumbled, and conveniently turned his head slightly towards the trap door that he spotted in the wall when he was brutally thrown through he window and crashed onto the ground. He used his left hand to push himself off the ground, wincing slightly as he applied force on his fractured wrist - or what he thought it was the wrist. In that state, he couldn't be sure what did he hurt or fracture, nor distinguish parts of his body accurately.

The officer didn't fail to notice this motion. He grabbed a knife from his leather knife holder on his black belt, and held it firmly in his left palm. Quick as a flash, the knife was embedded in Nottingham's stomach, with a huge stream of blood coming out of the opening in his body.

The stabbed man felt his world spinning, himself drifting in and out of darkness. As he writhed in pain and twisted in agony, the knife inside him moved around with every body movement that he made. The weapon was ferociously slicing his kidneys, his liver, his intestines, fracturing his ribcage, puncturing his lungs, stopping half an inch from his weakly, irregularly beating heart. With a muffled groan of resignation, he chose to lie still on the ground, numbly accepting his fate, regretting his decision of agreeing to negotiation that led him to this torture.

_I admit defeat,_ Nottingham silently acqueiscented.

This wasn't noticed by the torturer, though. He took out a bottle from a pocket in his coat, and hurled it at the far end of the room.

"Let there be a light," he declared. "Thomas Nottingham, your fate is sealed in my hands."

With scary precision, he shot the bottle with his machine pistol. There was a small spark where the bottle was shot, which suddenly exploded into a blaze that licked the corner of the room. As the bottle toppled and the molotov cocktail spilled on the ground, the blaze transformed into a multitude of flames that slowly crawled towards the man lying on the ground. In spite of the extent of his injury, he could still feel the heat around him, but he refused to open his eyes.

The killer's face turned into a facade of pure coldness and hatred. He turned to escape the scene of crime. Just as he left the warehouse, a deafening _boom_ was heard from behind. Turning around to give a last parting glance at the warehouse with his icy blue eyes, he could once again feel the anger rising inside him. Anger, aggravation and fury was the understatement of the century to describe the feelings raging inside him.

With that, the cartel officer spun on his heels and walked away from another murder scene that he created, with flames lingering in his irises and dancing around in his pitch black pupils.

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**Thanks for the reviews, everyone! I know you'd be cracking knuckles at me (or worse still, throwing those Striped Recluse spiders or porcelain blades) for not updating this story so long - I updated Chapter 2 in November, and then Chapter 3 in March -_- So, I'm here, and another chapter is done! :D**

**I understand that some of you can't imagine Mal being a killer or torturer - honestly, I can't either; but this chapter is essential to the grand finale which will be the NEXT CHAPTER! I feel like I'm doing such a bad job because this is only chapter four and I'm only updating once every four months D: I hope the next update won't be next year though!**

**There'll be an epilogue after the next chapter, so there will be 6 chapters in total for this story. I'll give you a slight hint - this story is pure angst. Like, there's 98% angst and 2% romance lol. That's why I didn't categorize it to be the romantic genre :P**

**Review replies:**

**FeliciaTheGoat (Esmerelda): Aww thanks! I can't tell you if they'll get together though; you've still got 3 chapters to go :D and as a heads up, you'll probably hate this chapter guts :P**

**mozzi-girl (Molly): Thanks Molls!**

**Abbzcadabbz22: Thanks! I hope this chapter doesn't shock you too much :P**


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